


and we will blow away

by andbless_mybaby



Category: Glee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-08
Updated: 2010-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-10 11:11:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andbless_mybaby/pseuds/andbless_mybaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Her name gets her, just like it does every time. If he'd used </em>baby<em>, she'd mark it up to one of his tried-and-true panty droppers. But there's an earnestness when he says </em>Rachel<em> like that that she can't resist. She can feel herself blushing from head to toe.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	and we will blow away

**Author's Note:**

> This is the non-depressing coda to [turning saints into the sea](http://andbless-mybaby.livejournal.com/50412.html) It's a slightly belated stocking stuffer for Becca (who wanted Puck to bring some goddamn condoms next time), and in appreciation for everyone else who told me point-blank that my stories are depressing as hell. I almost want to throw in a warning for gratuitous fluff. It is also gloriously unbeta'd, so any screw-ups are solely mine. Happy Boxing Day!

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[fic: glee](http://andbless-mybaby.livejournal.com/tag/fic:%20glee), [pairing: puck/rachel](http://andbless-mybaby.livejournal.com/tag/pairing:%20puck/rachel), [rating: nc-17](http://andbless-mybaby.livejournal.com/tag/rating:%20nc-17)  
  
  
---|---  
  
**Title:** and we will blow away  
**Author:** [](http://andbless-mybaby.livejournal.com/profile)[**andbless_mybaby**](http://andbless-mybaby.livejournal.com/)  
**Pairing:** Puck/Rachel  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Spoilers:** Through "Sectionals" (1.12)  
**Summary:** _Her name gets her, just like it does every time. If he'd used _baby_, she'd mark it up to one of his tried-and-true panty droppers. But there's an earnestness when he says _Rachel_ like that that she can't resist. She can feel herself blushing from head to toe._  
**Word Count:** 4,500

**Author's Notes:** This is the non-depressing coda to [turning saints into the sea](http://andbless-mybaby.livejournal.com/50412.html) It's a slightly belated stocking stuffer for Becca (who wanted Puck to bring some goddamn condoms next time), and in appreciation for everyone else who told me point-blank that my stories are depressing as hell. I almost want to throw in a warning for gratuitous fluff. It is also gloriously unbeta'd, so any screw-ups are solely mine. Happy Boxing Day!

  


Christmas morning is just like another for Rachel, except not. With all the stores and decent restaurants in town closed and decked with boughs of holly, there is never much for a self-respecting Daughter of Israel to do with herself. This is doubly true when the stormy weather forecast is taken into account. Triply so, when Rachel considers the last few weeks and how little inclination she's had to get up and be sociable and cheerful. (Though she's definitely not sulking or moping. That sort of behavior doesn't befit her.)

Historically on this day, her fathers and her have sat around at home in their coziest pajamas and ordered Chinese takeout and played board games, or otherwise gone to visit family friends. This year, Dad and Daddy didn't give her a fight when she said that she'd probably just catch up on some studying and prepare for the final exams that were waiting for her just on the other side of winter break. It's not as if they don't know what she's moping over. And besides, there is the issue of her seemingly interminable period of being grounded. Rachel knows that her fathers love her and just want to protect her, and that she has broken a major trust with them. But their vaguely suspicious looks are getting to be more than she can bear.

She wakes up around 8:00, since she never really sleeps late even when she can, and lies in bed quietly for a while. Outside her window, the falling snow is almost mockingly picturesque. She imagines her Christian friends' delight at the novelty of a White Christmas, and tries to remember the last time this had happened. She can't do it: it's obviously been a long time.

Rachel does some homework, plays with the layout of her MySpace, and watches a few episodes of _Charmed_ from the DVDs that Tina lent her. (She can't really stay into it once Prue dies; she doesn't think much of Rose McGowan of an actress.) It's not quite dinner time, so she does something she hasn't done in years and takes a nap. She closes her eyes, and gives herself permission to _not_ think the anger and disappointment she's seen on almost every face that has looked at her in the last two weeks. After that, she goes downstairs to put together a salad. Her dads are playing gin rummy, and something twists inside her heart when they sweetly offer to deal her in on the next hand. But she lowers her eyes, and goes back upstairs.

_

Late that night, Puck texts Rachel out of the blue.

_ come out_, it reads.

It's a bit confusing, until Rachel looks outside her bedroom window and sees his truck parked under a streetlamp two houses down. Her grounding is currently scheduled to last until February. And while she doesn't know exactly what punishment Mrs. Puckerman has devised, Rachel would wager her prized autographed photo of Bette Midler that it precludes eloping at ten o'clock to go pick up a girl. The snow is starting to fall again. It's freezing out, and Rachel can't handle the thought of potentially disappointing her parents so much again. There are so many compelling reasons to turn him down that she doesn't even really take the invitation seriously, at first.

_ Can't_, she types out.

_last chance R. make it happen._

The moment hangs in the balance while she stares down at the street. She could swear she sees the blob that is him in the back window shifting a bit, like he's looking up at her at the same time. Rachel sighs, thinks of the fact that she's already bid her fathers goodnight, and goes to get her coat and boots out of her closet. And is grateful that she isn't afraid of heights. (The trellis beneath her window has seen a lot of action as of late.)

_ Give me 5_, she replies.

_

  
If someone would have told Rachel earlier in the day that she'd be sitting in a vehicle with Puck all by herself, silently rehearsing a novel's worth of explosions, apologies, explanations, and demands… well, she wouldn't have believed it. Puck drives in silence. The radio isn't even on, so there's only the noisy rumble of the truck struggling to run and keep the heater going at the same time, and Puck's fingers tightening on the cracked leather of the steering wheel. She's never actually driven anywhere with him before, and she realizes that the combined smell of his truck is fundamentally _him_: stale marijuana smoke and sweaty sports uniforms with the fresh scent of his cologne over it. He's got a knit cap jammed over his ears, and a look of intense concentration that she senses has less to do with the (light) traffic, and more to do with avoiding her inquisitive looks.

"Where are we going?" she finally breaks the silence.

"Buttonwood Park," he says.

_ Lovely_, she tells herself. He's taking her to one of the best-known parking spots in Lima. And not the kind of parking spot as in "most advantageous for catching the Memorial Day parade."

"I'm not really in the mood-" she goes to say, but he interrupts her brusquely.

"Chill, Berry. I'm not trying to get in your pants, if that's what you're worried about. I just want to talk to you."

She frowns at him. "And that's the best place you could think of at which to do it?"

He groans irritably.

"It's _ quiet_," he responds.

"I'll bet," she mutters.

_

  
There are security guards who circle the main roads through the park at night, but they aren't even bothered with the area where Puck pulls up. He cuts down a side access avenue that leads to the park operations building, and pulls off into a copse of trees. There, he cuts the engine but leaves on the heat. Over that, the silence is deafening.

"I've seen this kind of movie," Rachel quips nervously. "There's usually a masked serial killer waiting in the shadows."

"Yeah… well, I've got a gun. It's a paintball gun, but that shit hurts." He jerks his thumb at the jumble of things behind the seat.

"Ah," she says. The subsequent pause lasts exactly two seconds beyond what she's comfortable with – she's never claimed not to be impatient – so she blurts: "Last time I tried to have a conversation with you, you told me that we had nothing to talk about."

She's expecting something sharp from him, like _ fine; maybe we don't_. But Puck looks at her for the first time all night.

"You made me feel like a total asshole," he tells her. The statement is fluid enough that she is reasonably confident in believing he's thought about it extensively. "Coming in with Finn. I thought… fuck. I keep thinking the wrong things about chicks, I guess."

"I thought that you just needed a place to stay," she says. "I wasn't aware that letting you do that – which you didn't even give me a choice in, in case you forgot – locked us into some kind of agreement with one another."

He purses his lip, and Rachel would think that he looked hurt if she didn't know better.

"That's some shit," he says. "You know all that sh… those things that happened, like in the middle of the week?"

"Yes," she says, unable to clarify what he means because of the blush spreading over her face. (She focuses acutely on the weather outside, and does not allow herself to think of Puck naked between her bedsheets.)

"That wasn't just because you were there, and available and all that. I mean, I know I said that it was… but you pissed me off."

"I didn't mean to!" Rachel isn't thinking, so she reaches out and grabs his arm imploringly. "Noah. Please. How was I supposed to know…"

"That it would kind of blow watching you suck face with fucking _ Finn_, of all people?" He looks down at her hand, and stares at it with an odd sort of curiosity. "Dude. In case you missed that little episode where he was beating my shit in, he and I haven't really been cool lately."

She processes this.

"He still won't speak to me," she tells Puck.

He makes an unintelligible sound of disgust.

"Well, that makes two of us. Three, if you count Quinn."

"Maybe it's because everyone keeps hurting him."

"Well _ maybe_ you should go hold him while he fucking cries, or something." Puck is angry. "God almighty, why are we even talking about Finn?"

"Maybe for the same reason we're talking about _ Quinn_," she fires back.

"That's low," he says. He sounds patently disgusted with her, a tone that she simply doesn't want to listen to at this juncture in what has certainly not been one of her personal Best Weeks Ever.

"No lower than you went." She sets her mouth, and pulls on the door handle. Her epic storm-outs work best with a larger audience and when there's not three miles of snow and frost between herself and home, but she'll just have to make it work. Rachel isn't quite sure how she's going to tramp through the darkness without being set upon by all kinds of unsavory types, but she doesn't exactly have this all mapped out. All that counts is disengaging from Puck and his hatefulness, and the thoughts that he's stirring in her brain.

"Hey, _ wait_." Puck sounds alarmed. His long arm shoots out, and he grips her wrist. "You fucking nuts? You'll catch hyperthermia and, like, die."

"It's _hypo_thermia, Noah." She shakes her wrist free. "And you don't exactly _catch_ it. But don't worry. Maybe when I'm dead you and Finn can reunite and commiserate about what a horrible person I am."

"Oh, come the fuck on." He's leaning over her to jam the lock on the door. "Don't pull the drama queen shit. If you want to go home, I'll take you home. You aren't walking."

"We seem to have arrived at an impasse," she tells him frostily. "So I'm not sure what benefit there would be to further talking."

"Do you ever just speak English?"

"Every word I just said was English, actually."

"_ Actually_… fine. How about we just stop talking?"

"You can take me home," she sighs.

"No. No, that's not what I meant."

Rachel doesn't know exactly what she thought he meant, but she wasn't really expecting him to pull her towards him and kiss her. Her first impulse is to pull away and maybe slap him again, because this is really ludicrous, and kissing – no matter how pleasant – is really not any method of communication at all. All of these things are right on the tip of her tongue. But then again, so is Puck's mouth. She's cold, and tired, and that's all she can figure to justify why her usually high standards are eroding. Because something clicks in her head, and Rachel figures (irrationally), that maybe this _is_ some form of dialogue, and one that works much better for what needs to be said between them in this moment.

He kisses her carefully until she responds, turning her whole self towards him. Puck pulls on either end of her scarf until she's right up against him, mouth open, and she tentatively brings a hand up to brush the shorn side of his head. Things grow heated in a hurry, like it hasn't been about two weeks since the last time this happened. The unfinished business with Finn and Quinn and all their angry words burns away as the snow falls softly outside.

It's warm enough inside the truck that Rachel almost forgets the freezing weather until Puck backs her up against the window, and her scalp brushes the icy pane of glass. She hisses a little against his lips, and he pulls her flush against the hard plane of his chest. Once upon a time – last month – Rachel would have expected that one could go on for hours kissing someone like this with hands decorously above clothes and resting on non-sexual body parts. There's a line that's been crossed between them, however, so she doesn't make a token attempt to brush him off when he starts to touch her.

It has not failed to amaze Rachel how careful Puck's hands can be. He traces aimless, burning lines up the insides of her knees with his fingertips as he's kissing her. Rachel slips a hand under his shirt, and is gratified when gooseflesh spreads itself away from her hand when she touches his side and back. She scores his nipple with her fingernail, making him hiss in a not-unpleasant way. He's so much warmer than she is, radiating heat like a furnace, so it feels good when he gets to the button of her pants and slides his fingers under her waistband.

"Wanna take these off?"

She can't see his face. His lips are against her temple, mouth moving against her skin.

"Yeah."

Rachel helps him skim her pants down her legs, and he takes her underwear with them. It's kind of silly, she thinks, because she's still fully-clothed up top and sporting thick socks up to her calves. (Her fashion taste may be eclectic, but even Rachel knows that cable-knit is not exceedingly sexy.) She shrugs off her coat and sweater for balance. Puck's one hand is circling her ankle, leaning in, while the other makes an inroad to third base up her inner thigh. Rachel closes her eyes when he touches her _there_, her breath catching before she can make it even out.

"Can I make you come?" he asks quietly.

"I…" she falters, as ill-prepared to answer that question as the first time he mentioned it.

"Don't say no," he murmurs. "Let me make you feel good. C'mon, Rachel."

Her name gets her, just like it does every time. If he'd used _baby_, she'd mark it up to one of his tried-and-true panty droppers. But there's an earnestness when he says _Rachel_ like that that she can't resist. She can feel herself blushing from head to toe.

"O-okay."

She feels him smile against her face.

The first time he uses his tongue on her, her hands clench futilely at the seat for purchase, and a round, mewing _oh_ escapes her lips. Puck guides one of her hands to his shoulder, where she can dig in and scratch at his skin. Rachel squirms and breathes hard, every feeling in her body gone except _wet_ and _hot_.

(Once, when she was a little girl, Rachel's dads took her to Lake Loramie for a week's camping vacation and taught her to swim. She was old enough then that she remembers learning to float. Hands underneath her, limbs outstretched on the long, cool surface of the water… and then nothing but herself, bobbing on the surface like she was part of the lake. This feeling is not unlike that, she thinks.)

Puck takes his leisure, stimulating her with his lips and fingers until Rachel's legs shake and she's trying not to lock her thighs around his head. Her thumbs are numb from holding them so tightly in fists. He's driving her crazy, thrusting two fingers slowly inside her until she clenches and whimpers and rocks her hips desperately. He gives her a few blissful moments of sucking hard where it feels best, hand and mouth knowing and perfect, which only makes her cry out when he backs off and goes slower.

"Please," she says.

"Breathe. Breathe," he tells her lowly. She's never heard him sound this way before. "What do you want?"

"I wanna- I want you to make me-" In the critical moment, she can't say it.

"Shhh." He understands, he's turning his wrist and rocking into her the way she needs. He nips at her inner thigh. "Yeah, yeah. C'mon."

When he uses his tongue again, it's all over. She comes hard, breathless and frantically swiveling against him. Slamming her eyes shut, his name breaks over her lips like a wave crashing. All the tension in her body hits critical mass, and then ebbs away slowly.

Rachel takes several moments to catch up on oxygen, as Puck watches her curiously.

"What?" she asks, finally.

"That was fucking _beautiful_. You good?"

"I think I'm probably better than good," she pronounces shakily, making him laugh. He leans over her to kiss her. Rachel tastes a not-unpleasant musk on his breath that takes her aback slightly when she realizes that it's _her_, but Puck's kisses brook no qualms. Against her, his erection strains in a way that she would swear must be uncomfortable. She reaches down to touch him, and he pushes his hips into her hand.

"Noah," she interrupts him.

"_Uhhh_," he groans. "Rachel. What?"

"Did you bring any condoms, this time?"

She's still rubbing him through his jeans, so it takes him a moment to regroup.

"Holy- yeah, I got some." His eyes focus on hers, the irises even darker than normal. "You wanna try that again?"

"Yeah." This is as confident as she gets, the burn simmering under her skin goading her.

Puck unbuckles his belt, and slides his jeans off. Rachel pulls her thick shirt over her head. Her hair crackles with static electricity, and a pang of modesty makes her cross her arms over her bra. He's extracted himself from his clothes by the time he notices. Puck sits down on the bench seat, and pulls Rachel onto his lap. He makes short work of her bra for her, palming her breasts until her shy arms fall away.

Straddling his knees, the fact that she is naked in a car seems more obvious to her than ever before. Rachel folds her arms around his neck and buries her face in his shoulder, a little overwhelmed. He's burning and hot between her legs, but Puck just shifts and holds her, kissing her neck until she relaxes.

"I'm ready," she tells him.

"Lay down," he replies. "Relax. It'll feel so good. I swear."

Rachel lies down across the bench seat. The seatbelt buckles jams a bit into her shoulder and hip, making her wriggle to get comfortable. Her hair falls down over the edge of the seat, almost touching the floor, and she's almost surprised at how much she just doesn't care. There's been no other moment in her life where one non-academic, non-artistic thing has counted above everything else so much as Puck touching her does right now. In her chest, her heart kicks and starts like an engine revving.

"This the first time you've gotten lucky in a car, Berry?" His words are flippant, but his gaze is hot enough to smolder.

"It's my first time for a lot of things," she tells him.

"But not this. Like, not really."

"No," she admits.

He touches her carefully, testing how ready she is. Rachel bucks against his hand, still slippery from his earlier efforts.

"Now. God." Gasping.

Puck fishes in his wallet for a condom, dexterously teasing her while he's searching. He rips open the packet, and Rachel watches with great fascination as he rolls the condom on over himself. (It's a fairly deft process for him, but that doesn't particularly surprise her.)

"See something you like?"

"Maybe." The little jest is meant to sooth her nerves, which are all jangled and knotted up in her belly. There's something else there, pulsing and spreading like liquid, heating her up from beneath. That's the something that makes her pull on his shoulder, bringing him down to her.

But Puck refuses to be hurried. He uses his fingers on her, teasing her carefully and slowly until a low, needy noise rises from her throat. Then he kisses her once, and leans very close to her face to watch as he guides himself inside her.

Rachel's tense, expecting it to hurt a lot more than it does. There's some tightness, but nothing like the pain of the last time. (She has to remind herself that she's no longer a virgin in the strictest sense, which is probably the reason why.) He goes so, so slowly, entering her in the most incremental of stages. A long, shivery breath escapes Rachel, and she wills her body to relax. When she does, something moves between the two of them like alchemy, and she lifts her hips to close the distance between the two of them herself.

Puck bottoms out inside her, eyes lowered with concentration. There's something unspeakably endearing – in this moment especially – about the delicacy with which he's treating her, and she can't help the hand that comes up to stroke the back of his neck. He opens his eyes, and curls his lower lip at her.

"Yeah, yeah," he whispers. "This shit is totally _Say Anything_, isn't it?"

A small giggle escapes her, and the budding movie star in Rachel is scandalized (because you simply do not laugh during sex – right?).

Her laughter is cut short when Puck begins to move. He's up on his hands above her, the weight of his hips unfamiliar but unspeakably welcome to her. It's so, so slow. She can feel every inch of him as he pulls out and pushes in again.

"Faster," she says, going off something like instinct.

"Why, Rachel Berry. Who'd have thought?" he murmurs. But he obliges her. He gives her one quicker, slightly more forceful thrust, and she rolls her hips in reply.

His hand comes between then, rubbing where she is slick, making Rachel moan. She brings her own hand up, lacing her fingers with his to guide him. Puck's eyes grow wide, and he just watches her making them touch herself for several moments. There's something to be said about making _Noah Puckerman_ speechless in a sexual context, she thinks, and the thought is all jittery and mixed-up in her brain. Because three thrusts later with their fingers on her, she's about to come again.

"Fuck," he swears when she cries out, releasing the breath she's been holding in one convulsive exhale. "Did you just-?"

She nods, feeling like she's glowing from the insider out. Limbs loose and heated, she wraps herself around him as he thrusts into her again and again. Puck's eyes are closed again, like he's focusing hard. He's biting his lower lip, and something contrary in Rachel decides to make him lose his control. She tangles her legs in his, grips his rear, and rolls her hips. With every rotation, he's deeper inside her, increasing the tempo of his movements. Puck is panting now, movements sloppy, mouth latching onto hers like he's trying to breath underwater. Rachel kisses him hungrily, sucking in his low moan.

He collapses against her when he comes, teeth scraping her neck. Rachel clings to him and breathes hard, sweat cooling on their skin in the suddenly silent truck.

_

  
"We should talk about this," she ventures.

"Yeah. Probably." But he doesn't say anything.

"Noah." After dealing with the condom, he'd reached out to pull her against him. Her back is to his front, and his words are kind of muffled by her hair. "I think that, given the current situation with… everyone else, it would be unwise for us to continue this way. It would be pretty misguided of us to continue with the random booty calls."

"This wasn't a booty call," he replies, offended.

"You texted me late at night and snuck me out of my house to go sit in your truck at the town lovers' lane." He can't see her face, but Rachel is rolling her eyes. "There's a wise old saying about things that move like a duck and quack like a duck."

"I seriously wanted us to talk," he insists.

It strikes her, ridiculously, that maybe he's telling the truth. The irony in that does not go unnoticed, but Rachel is nothing if not focused.

"Then we should talk. About the fact that you are expecting a baby, which comes laden with all sorts of complications. About the fact that you dislike the concept of Finn courting me, even though I've yet to get any sort of indication from you that you are interested in me for anything more than sex – which is excellent, by the way… I mean, the sex is – and about you continuously tempting me into irresponsible decisions. Because I'm really not that kind of young woman, and I dislike the thought of being led into a lifestyle of depravity."

"Depravity." He repeats the word like it's foreign, slowly and deliberately. "I've got more than just that shit going on, you know."

"You do," she says. "I haven't doubted that."

"Can I show you something?" he asks, after a few moments.

"What?"

"I want you to check something out," he says. He sits up, pushing her off him in not-inconsiderate way. "Get dressed. Come on."

Rachel has never had the occasion to get fully dressed in the cab of a pickup truck before, but it's not especially easy. Puck manages it much better, and has his pants and thermal t-shirt on before Rachel's even fastened her bra. She shimmies into her jeans, bending up off the seat to get them all the way up, and Puck all but pounces on her with her shirt, sweater, and coat. She's zipping up her boots, and he's yanking something out from under the driver's side of the seat.

"Come on," he repeats, getting out.

Outside, a light dusting of snow has already blanketed the ground. Rachel watches in bemusement as Puck climbs up on the tailgate, and unrolls a ratty old plaid comforter down in the bed of the truck.

"Is that thing even _clean_?" She has to raise her voice a little bit over the breeze, which is frosty enough to numb her nose.

"Oh, chill out." He grins at her rakishly. "Get up here."

He hands her up into the bed, and she frowns at his wide smile.

"We're not having Round Two out here, Noah," she tells him in advance.

"Not during this time of year, duh." He rolls his eyes. "Are you fucking crazy? We'll do that shit in June."

"We… will?" Her voice comes out a lot softer than she'd tried for, muted by the little note of happiness tied to it.

"Oh, for sure." He sits down, and sticks his gloved hand straight out. "All summer. Send you home with grass stains – total fucking _depravity_ \- come here."

She gets down too, and scoots over into his side.

"Lie down," he tells her.

Cumbersome in their coats and hats, they lay down on the backs side by side on the blanket. Rachel looks straight up to the sky, and sees what he was trying to show her. Like this, the snowflakes fall directly from the heavens onto them. She can see each one fluttering slowly down before it sticks to her lashes and face, melting with little prickles of cold on her skin. It makes her shriek a little, and Puck roars with laughter.

The thick fingers of his glove reach over to find her mitten, and he holds her hand.

"Merry Christmas, Berry," he says loudly. "In a totally Jewish way."

Her smile is tentative, but when it comes it grows bigger than the winter sky.

"Merry Christmas, Noah."

**end.**   



End file.
